


Strays and other annoyances

by RussianWitch



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q isn't supposed to keep pets, even if strays wander in an empty his fridge in the middle of the night. Now beta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays and other annoyances

**Author's Note:**

> Now beta'd with thanks to the lovely missingpride1913.

Occasionally, Q wants to point out that, according to his lease, he isn't supposed to have pets.

Bond, while a man in form, does have more in common with an alley tomcat than with a normal human being, and seems to have the same ability to turn up at the most inconvenient time.

Q wakes up in the middle of the night, due to unfamiliar sounds coming from the other side of the apartment, to find Bond in his kitchen digging into the left over stuffed tomatoes from Q's dinner.

The kitchen is still a mess. Q would have fainted if Bond had actual cleaned up before he started cleaning out the icebox. Bond sits at the corner of the dining table, wedged in against the wall, hunched over his plate like he expects someone to take it away at any moment.

Despite his irritation, Q has to suppress the urge to pet the inconsiderate bastard, but as long as there is food in front of Bond, Q fears he might accidentally lose a hand.

"I see Romania has a food shortage."

"No more than usual."

He doesn't look up and Q wonders if he shouldn't have stayed a little longer once the mission was finished after all. With a sigh, Q puts the kettle on and digs in the pantry for some bread.

He isn't stupid enough to come close. Instead, he tosses it on the table next to the ravenous agent. Bond doesn't exactly fall upon it but it's a close call.

"Have you checked in?"

Bond ignores him and Q takes that as a 'no'. With another sigh, he goes back to his bedroom and collects his mobile for a quick text to HQ about the fact that their wayward agent wasn't playing dead again, but was instead eating their Quartermaster out of house and home.

Back in the kitchen, he makes himself a cup of green tea before sitting down on the other side of the table to try and determine if Bond is in one piece or not. Bond is the usual post-mission mess of looking like hell warmed over.

He seems to be favouring his left arm too much for comfort. Well... more like not using it at all. Q would have noticed before if Bond hadn't been half hidden by a pile of dirty dishes.

"Have you had any medical attention or did you just lick your wounds and drink?"

"Swallowed some pills."

Q is by now intimately aware of Bond's habit of self medicating. Several doctors in Medical go into hysterics every time Bond comes back from a mission.

"I suppose, since you're not bleeding out on my floor, we'll leave it for now. You know where the blankets are. Enjoy sleeping on the couch."

Ice blue eyes finally look up at him just before he turns away to go back to bed. Q refuses to think about the fatigue he sees in them or the need.

He doesn't allow himself to think about it.

It's like feeding stray cats on an emotional level. It creates expectations which may not be fulfilled somewhere down the road.

Once in bed, he can hear Bond still moving around. He’s probably searching for his vodka stash or possibly riffling through Q's slightly illegal first aid supplies. He falls asleep quickly because he’s all too aware that morning isn't far off and does not want to deal with the emotions Bond elicits.

When the alarm goes off, the "Imperial March" swelling up from his mobile phone, Q opens his eyes and finds himself wrapped up in two blankets and one secret agent. Bond, stubborn as he is, doesn't even twitch at the sound.

Q wonders if he should mention it to Tanner, as it doesn't seem prudent for an agent to sleep so deeply that he doesn't even hear a full orchestra.

He slides out of Bond's grasp, feeling sweaty and disgruntled, as if he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Only, he knew that wasn’t true because Bond had learned pretty quickly not to get between Q and his favourite spot.

Q suppresses the urge to pull the blanket off the man to make sure the arm, together with the usual cuts and bruises which decorate Bond's body, is the only casualty. The fact that a naked, sleeping Bond is an aesthetically pleasing sight would be just a bonus one that Q forgoes this morning.

He steps into the shower, already deciding to stay under the hot water longer than usual as a reward for putting up with random colleagues breaking in to his house. Q is almost completely zoned out, contemplating the cosmic nothingness and enjoying the rivulets of water running down his body, when a draft of cold air shakes him out of his trance. Bond's chest pressing against his back makes up for a lot, even as if robs Q of his privacy.

"Your alarm is annoying."

Teeth nip at the back of Q's neck and shoulders as rough hands find his hipbones to grip and press Q back against Bond's hard cock. Q bites his lips and ignored his assailant for the time being.  
Like any other stray, Bond can't stand not having the full attention of anyone he considers his. One hand slides up Q's abdomen to tease at an already tight nipple before pinching viciously, making Q growl and buck in Bond's grasp.

"I didn't want to wake you last night."

"Why didn't you go to headquarters?"

He knows that the truth lies somewhere somewhere between not being willing to deal with Medical and still testing M's control.

"Missed you."

For a moment Q wants to allow Bond to do as he wishes, to their mutual enjoyment, but that would only encourage the agent. Q isn't in the same weight or skill class as his intruder but he does have some talents of his own. He slips from Bond's embrace, propelling the agent into the wall and Q's former position.

He knows that he caused him discomfort but Bond is used to it and Q knows that he can take far more. Robbed of his sleep and forced to cook for a second day in a row, Q wants Bond to hurt just a little. He reaches up, tracing the veins in Bond's left underarm with a finger, resisting the temptation to twist the already damaged arm up behind Bond's back to make it hurt just a little more. It's not like Bond is trying to avoid any pain grabbing at Q, using the damaged arm before getting it checked.

As if he knows what Q is thinking, Bond changes position a little. He stops bracing himself on his right arm and instead locks them behind his back. Q snorts at the submissive pose offered to him, letting his hands explore freely. He inventories the bruises and scrapes, digging his fingers in to the cheeks of the tight ass presented to him hard enough to leave red lines on the tanned flesh.

Q can see Bond struggling to keep the pose, as always uneasy with the situation he has put himself. He rubs his cheek against the swell of Bond's ass, rewarding the offering with a string of sharp bites that circle the delightful dimples decorating the magnificent flesh. Bond growls against the tiles but stays still, except for the twitching in the muscles under Q's hands and mouth.

Blindly, Q reaches for unguent to smooth his way as he gets back to his feet. As pleasant as fucking Bond raw would be, he does need the agent functional and with minimal trouble walking. He doesn't want to admit, even to himself, that screwing in the shower has happened often enough that he has started to keep lubricant in the stall.

His finger is almost squeezed off when he pushes in without warning. In revenge he shoves another one in stroking deep and making room for himself. He's pleased that Bond is panting already and starting to push back delightfully silent and accommodating. Q licks the water off the broad back presented to him, scraping his teeth across hard muscle and rubbing himself against a convenient thigh.

It seems to take ages before he deems Bond lose enough for Q to finally go where he wants to be. Mounting Bond is always a thrill with a slight chance of being thrown off or possible killed; Q moulds himself to the broader body, rests his full weights on Bond's arms and slowly rocks in and out his hands leaving bruises right above the agent's hipbones. Usually Bond is less passive and Q makes a mental note to find out what the hell happened after he signed off, after he finishes getting his pound of flesh.

"Q..."

He's a weak individual but vocalizing should be rewarded no matter the other circumstances. He wraps his hand around Bond's cock which is mercilessly trapped against the cold tile. The hard flesh twitches and jumps in his grasp uncaring that Q is enough of a bastard to dig his nails in if he gets in to a mood.

"Will you put your back in to it you little bitch!"

Bond's fingers dig in to Q's hip, pushes against Q's thrust egging him on. He should have known that reward would lead to insubordination. Annoyed he changes position to free a hand to twists Bond's damaged arm further up his back. He knows from previous experience that Bond will come even without the additional stimulation of a hand on his cock.

He pulls out almost completely and rams himself back in speeding up as so charmingly requested letting go of restraint and letting annoyance and lust take over. Judging by the growls and moans that echoing around the bathroom Bond is pleased with Q's efforts.

When Q comes he sees white and digs his nails in so as not to fall over. He waits for his braincells to start firing efficiently again listening to Bond's cursing and demands for satisfaction. Q nuzzles and licks at an iron biceps as he decides if he's ready to pull out or not. He wraps a hand around Bond's cock again stroking briskly, hand tight, giving pleasure bordering on pain.

Bond comes, Q sinking his teeth in to his back again leaving a beauty of a bite-mark right between Bond's shoulder blades, shuddering and twitching but silent as the grave. Q pulls away when he's sure that Bond won't keel over when not held up by him already wondering which tower of dirty dishes would be moved without to much risk to create breakfast space and whether he should risk making waffles or pancakes or something else hot and probably nutritious.

Bond follows him out of the shower but limits himself to getting in the way when Q tries to towel off and messing up Q's cabinets looking for an electric razor that he seems to have left like half a mouse carcass hidden in a slipper.

Q grabs his favourite ratty bathrobe against the chill as he wanders towards the kitchen. He manages to dig up half the dining table simply by throwing away some of the take out packages and is putting on the kettle when Bond wanders in wearing his own dirty slacks but one of Q's t-shirts.

"Have you made up your mind how you're going to set fire to the kitchen this time?"

Q can only sneer at Bond; it was only once and only the microwave had been on fire.

"You didn't have any complaints when you were scarfing down my cooking a few hours ago."

"As you pointed out I was self-medicated."

Q finds himself sat down at the table with his mug of tea made to his exacting specifications, something his minions still haven't managed to master, and the morning paper. Bond for all his faults can fetch rather well and manages a breakfast that looks edible.

Between admiring Bond's ass as the man does something capable with fresh produce and reading the paper he checks his phone to find a text from Tanner, who seems to have worse sleeping habits than Q himself, demanding the return of the wayward agent at once and two from Eve who of course knows everything Tanner knows and is demanding details.

He tells Tanner to send a car since he refuses to even attempt to keep track of Bond in the metro without electronic assistance and tells Eve that there is nothing to tell and he doesn't know what she is talking about.

"Mind telling Tanner to have the car deliver one of my suits."

Q wonders how he's failed so badly to set boundaries and if he shouldn't invest in a litter box or maybe a pet bench for when he really needs his peace and quite.

"Did you manage to destroy your phone again?"

"And here I thought that the Quartermaster was there to accommodate my needs..." Bond looks all to pleased with himself and his comment something Q can never resits.

"So tell me 007 how accommodating was my predecessor to your need to see your Quartermaster in a schoolgirl outfit?"

Q makes a mental note to find this moment on his home surveillance feed and make a few copies. He hasn't seen a look that disgusted since his mother's cat had confused lemon with cheese. Q finds himself petting the inconsiderate bastard and even contemplates messaging Tanner about the suit.

Fortunately he comes to his senses before going for his phone; feeding strays never leads to anything good, and really the whole schoolgirl uniform thing should be enough of a reward. As a compromise Q gets out of his chair and straddles Bond's lap nipping at the agent's bottom lip tasting coffee but thankfully no alcohol.

"You can text Tanner yourself about your damn suit."

He leans back leaning his elbows on the table behind them after contorting enough to snag a piece of toast. Bond hasn't burned anything and it turns out that there were eggs in the fridge and even sausage a piece of which spired on a fork appears in front of his mouth. As Q chews Bond amuses himself with tugging at the belt of Q's robe watching him closely and looking pleased with himself.

By the time both their plates are empty Q is naked, hard and mentally apologizing to the driver send to fetch them for the wait he's going to have. Bond has him half on the table already precariously positioned between the towers of dishes. Q moans clawing at the table top and cursing Bond who has decided to be a teasing bastard and go slow; the way the day will probably go Q wouldn't mind some bruises to remind him of the happy start of the day.

Bond leans over the table bending Q almost in half, covering him with his own body rocking them slowly, burying his face in Q's neck murmuring something Q can't make out lost in the building pleasure. It isn't often that they are this tender; nether of them needs it much, doesn't know how to deal with it really.

Q manages to let go of the table to grip at Bond's short hair forcing his head up to bite at the agent's mouth. Q feels Bond's grip on his hips tighten, fingers digging in to thin skin above his hipbones, he moans in pleasure and tightens his legs around Bond's waist.

A car horn sounds outside and Bond growls in irritation but doesn't speed up.  
His orgasm isn't as powerful as the one in the shower but very satisfactory non the less. Bond goes slack above him resting his full weight on Q nuzzling his throat and Q can almost see the braincells start to fire again in the assassin's brain.

They untangle slowly ignoring the mess they have made on the table. Q figures he'll sort it out when he gets home, if he gets home in the evening. James wanders off towards the front door ignoring the fact that he's a rumpled mess already calling their drivers probably to find out if he's been brought a suit or anything else wearable.

He's still sponging off when James saunters in suit bag in hand and looking smug. Q notes that he's still favouring his left arm and promises himself to check with Medical at the end of the day to make sure James has visited them without having a gun to his head.

"Ready darlin'?"

Q sneers at the question grabbing James by his overly expensive lapels and drags him out of the apartment.

The agent behind the wheel makes a big production of ignoring the big, bad 00-agent getting stuffed in the back seat by the Quartermaster who all but sits in said agent's lap before taking out a tablet and starting the interrogation about missing equipment.

Q really doesn't see the point of waiting until they are at the office and James can escape without jumping out of a moving vehicle. He ignores James' hand slipping under his anorak, jumper and shirt to rest on Q's bare back for the rest of the ride.

Q shifts to lean more comfortably against his agent.

He might lie to himself in the middle of the night but in the light of day it's better in the long run to tell the truth. He has a lot of agents under his care but they are the property of M, England or possibly the queen, Q doesn't really give a toss, but one James Bond is his. 007 will be his until he gets himself killed in the line of duty but as long as that doesn't happen Q will deal with the break-ins, the broken nights and the school girl outfit. James gets bored and starts baiting him half way through traffic.

Q sends a message to Eve so she can notify M that 007 is back and will be ready for debriefing as soon as they are in. The day stretches before him with the promise of his stray turning up again in the evening if he isn't send abroad again or locked up in Medical.

Despite the lack of sleep and running three cups of tea behind his schedule Q doesn't yet feel like blowing up the world, something the psyche department will probably be glad to hear, he wonders how long the feeling will last when he isn't using James as a chair any longer.

James looks more or less intact; the cracks in his façade mended for the moment.  
Q wonders what the reaction would be if he makes a collar for his illegal pet: something in blue to match the eyes with a nice tag so as not to cause confusion. He rather likes that idea since M still won't sign off on his suggestion of chipping agents due to privacy concerns or some rot.

James' hand rubs his spine, Q can feel the bruises above his hipbones throbbing slightly, he wonders if James can feel the difference between work bruises and the recreational kind.

Life would be as perfect as it gets, if someone would just clean the kitchen.


End file.
